Page 29 of The Vow

It was getting late. Dinner should be on the table soon, sustenance for a woman whose soul was malnourished. Standing unsteadily, she stared at his crypt that wasn’t decorated with anything fancy. There were no flowers, cards, or stuffed animals. There were no religious relics to help light the way. There was only the likeness of a man who would never hear her tell him she loved him. She didn’t get a chance. He left. He didn’t mean to. On a snowy day, in a stone gazebo and with God as their witness, he vowed to always stay, but “forever”, it was only a word.

“I have to go now, love. I heart you. I always will.”

Ten

“Hey, Pip. Long time, no see. How’s it goin’?”

Someone nicknamed Teddy “Thwack”, because he can strike harder than any guy at Phoenix Boxing. I used to be intimidated by his seven-foot frame but one night, in the locker room, I overheard him talking to his trainer about how terrified he was to get in the ring. From then on, I saw him as the opposite of Goliath. “It’s goin’. How have you been?”

“Eh,” he said, shrugging. “Doc says I’ll need reconstructive surgery if I want my old face back.” Despite the No Smoking signs in the gym, he had a cigarette behind his ear.

“Sorry to hear that. What are you going to do?”

“Nothin’. Except find every chick that broke my heart, and date her all over again. This time, I’ll be the one breaking hearts.”

It wasn’t impossible. If I didn’t know it was him, I wouldn’t have recognized him. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re back.”

“Just helping out around here. If I watch any more of The Price is Right, I’ll go nuts. Don’t let Cable work you too hard.”

“Too late,” Cable hobbled over to where we were standing. He was in a particularly good mood today. “Get outta here! Pip has a fight to win.”

“Old Bastard,” Teddy said, crinkling his newly damaged nose. “Good luck with the whipmaster, Pip.”

I woke at the crack of dawn this morning and was greeted with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Although I knew Alex was already awake, I tiptoed around the house and made as little noise as possible. We indulged in a leisurely dinner last night and I tried my damnedest to keep the conversation light. She regaled me with stories of her youth like the time she sang Karaoke. Everyone in the bar was so drunk, they didn’t notice that she was mouthing the words to Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. She ended up winning first place, along with free drinks for the rest of the night. I, in turn, told her what it was like to step into the ring for the first time. I had felt less like a King, and more like a pauper, and that mentality helped me win. There’s no greater driving force than fear, and a pauper has little to lose, and everything to gain. After dinner, we sat outside on the porch and watched as a steady rain fell. Alex turned in early, but not before telling me, “I haven’t felt this peaceful since before he died.”

After my morning shower, I found a sheet of note paper taped to the milk carton. I thought it might be a shopping list, or a “thank you” letter. It was neither:

At the diner with no name, she sat stoic. Her eggs had developed a film over them and were stuck in a congealed pool of butter.

"You going to eat that?"

"No. I just like to stare at it. It was the last meal I had before the accident," she said, fading away.

I added a note at the bottom and left it on the coffee table.

Romance, Alex. We said, romance.

As I was leaving to go the gym, I noticed that her door was ajar. Peeking in, I thought that she resembled a teenager. She was still in her nightgown, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and painting her thumbnail with Liquid Paper. The typewriter sat in front of her, dormant, and on her leg, I could see...

“Earth to Pip... what the hell is wrong with you!?” Cable pulled me out of thoughts. It wasn’t hard since my nostrils were filled with the smell of sweat. The gym was full today, a meeting place for the rough, and tough who were bonding through a shared goal. I pictured everyone dressed impeccably, like the men who used to retire to the library with their cigars, and brandy.

“Sorry.”

“You think the Anvil is off daydreaming?”

“No. Let’s do this.”

“Good. That’s the spirit. Where the fuck is Jesse?”

We were about to simulate a real fight using focus mitts. Cable is too old and fragile to guide me through the drill. My partner, Jesse, is twelve years my junior, but he’s precise, strong, and when he’s not M.I.A., reliable.

“Here, boss.”

“Where were you?” Cable asked him.

“Had to take a phone call. My girlfriend’s as big as a house. We’re expecting.”

“Expecting what?”